


Rise of the Nightingale

by Schattenecho



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Fight or Flight, Flashbacks, Gay Panic, M/M, Mentions of Concentrationcamps, Not Beta Read, Oneshot, Post-Ettersberg, Prisoner of War, Torture, We Die Like Men, Werewolves, World War II, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenecho/pseuds/Schattenecho
Summary: Thomas Nightingale escaped the hell of Ettersberg only to be on the run for weeks, all on his own. Always alert, looking over his shoulder, trying to buy his men time. And he can do this. He is the Nightingale. And he has somebody to remind him of that...
Relationships: David Mellenby/Thomas Nightingale
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Rise of the Nightingale

The wind was icy and biting; it cut through his boots, his coat, the remains of his uniform. The snowflakes were big and every single one that landed on his skin felt like a cut. But he had to keep going. Not only for his own sake, but for the sake of his men. They relied on him with their lives and he wouldn’t disappoint them. 

Thomas Nightingale stumbled through the storm, blindly following the military compass in his shaking hands. He’d stopped feeling them long ago, at dusk, if he remembered right. He hid his hands from the cold as quick as possible, before his fingers could turn black and dead. His entire body hurt, especially his feet and his shoulder. About two days ago (but maybe three or four, he couldn’t tell) a pack of Werewolves had tracked him down at the bottom of a ravine, where he had nowhere to run. So, he had had to fight.

***

 _Keep calm, don’t let them provoke you. Just ignore them. They will go away._ They didn’t. They never did. It was a group of four elder students, all of them bigger and physically stronger than he. Thomas just turned away, pressed his books against his chest and tried to hurry away.

He didn’t even know why they had chosen him as they preferred target. Maybe because he was even for his younger age a bit small and pale. But he guessed it was because of the things he thought when he looked at some of the other boys in Casterbrook. He didn’t know how they found out about it, but that had to be the reason. Maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought at hiding it.

Thomas tried to walk a bit quicker, but was stopped faster that he liked it. He rounded the corner and bumped into someone’s back. He looked up and stared in the grinning face of William Grey.

_Please no, not again._

***

Four dead Werewolves had remained on the ground, two others escaped, leaving traces of fresh blood. One of them had hit his shoulder with his staff strong enough to cause an ugly cracking sound in it, before Nightingale’s spell had ripped his stomach open and blood coloured the white snow red. He didn’t like fighting and he hated killing. But he had to stay alive and keep moving. As long as the Werewolves were hunting him, as they had to send more and more forces after him, the others, his men who had fled from the hell of the Ettersberg would gain more precious time to reach the safety of the British lines.

Thomas wrapped his blood-soaked coat tighter around his increasingly meagre body. It had been quite some time since he’d last eaten something. In their days at Casterbrook he and David had gone on long walks in the woods. It was the only way to get some privacy. David used to show him every edible plant and fruit he could find. Knowledge he always considered useful, but now, when everything was covered with snow it couldn’t help him much. At least he could find some acrid roots that helped blocking out the dull pain in his stomach. That and the things he could find with the dead soldiers had been his only aliment on his journey. 

How long was it since Ettersberg? Two weeks? Three? More than a month? More than two? He didn’t know. He had no map, only a direction and even that wasn’t sure. He’d had to leave his path multiple times in the past to avoid bigger units of Werewolves and regular Wehrmacht soldiers.

He guessed that he was somewhere near the Rhine. He would have to find a bridge to cross the river, preferably in a small village where he could cross without many people noticing. He wore a coat he had taken from one of the Werewolves who had the misfortune of meeting him. But that would only safe him from quick glances, not closer examinations.

The shapes of thin trees, bended by decades of sharp wind, appeared in the white snow flurry. Thomas reached the copse, tripping over a thick brown root. Normally he would just had made a quick step to keep his balance, but now he was simply too debilitated to prevent his fall. So he did fall.

***

“You know, Nightingale, I always like watching you whistling. “, William stepped towards him, while Nightingale backed off, hastily thinking about a way out. But it was too late. He had to stop, back against the wall, surrounded by William Grey and his rout.

“Look, boys. We caught the little bird. Will you sing for us?”

They laughed like the bunch of loyal idiots they were.

“No, I won’t. Would you please let me pass?”, Thomas attempted to push past Oliver who was the shortest one of the group. Before he could leave the encirclement, William grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back forcefully. Forcefully enough that he lost grip of his books. They banged up on to the floor and were kicked away by the older boys.

“You want to leave? Now? Are we not good enough for the little lord? Boys, you heard it, we are just a bunch of dirty peasants.”

“I never said that.”, Thomas knew how this would end, but he still tried to act the way his parents thought him: “I just asked you to let me pass.”

But it was already too late. They wanted to have fun with him, so they would that and he could do nothing about it.

***

His mouth was filled with snow, his nose tickled from the snowflakes. He couldn’t sense one half of his face; it already was too cold. His mind screamed at him to get up, before the frostbite would get permanent. But his feet just wanted a break from all this pain, the snow seemed so soft, almost like his bed in the Folly at home. Only one thing was missing. The warmth of another human being.

“Was ist da!?”

A voice, female, strong and definitely angered. Thomas needed a second to understand what she was saying. A farmer probably. Anyway, he had to leave before she reached him. He could hear the noise her steps created over the howling storm.

Nightingale forced himself to stand up, but his stiff leg refused to support his weight. He stumbled again and had to grab one of the trees to prevent another fall. Unfortunately, he did that with his damaged shoulder. He couldn’t suppress a scream of pain.

The next thing he heard was the clicking of a Luger directly next to his head:

“Wer bist du? Ein Räuber? Ein Deserteur!?“

The woman was about forty, her brown hair was stuffed under a blue headsquare. She looked like a person you shouldn't mess with. She would pull the trigger of her pistol, if he would propose any threat to her. He didn’t want to use magic. There could’ve been Werewolves nearby. His magic already smelt stronger than most others. Thomas rose both hands to show that he was unarmed:

“Bitte. Ich tue Ihnen nichts. Bitte.“

She relaxed a bit, hearing a familiar language, but didn’t lowered her gun:

“Wer sind Sie?”

“Thomas. Mein Name ist Thomas.“

“Was machen Sie hier?“

“Ich gehe weg. Bitte, lassen Sie mich einfach gehen. Ich gehe einfach.“

“Sie stehlen nichts? Sie gehen weg?“

“Ja. Bitte.”

She lowered the Luger, didn’t point it directly at his head anymore:

“Geh. Geh!”

Thomas didn’t wait for another shift of mind. He ran away as fast as he could.

***

Grey grabbed him by the collar of his school uniform shirt and shoved him against the wall. The air was pressed out of Thomas’ lungs and he felt rage growing inside him. But he had to fight the urge to break William’s arm with a quick _Impello._ He knew it would be easy for him, it wouldn’t need much more than a thought. _No, you must control yourself!_

Theoretically he was stronger than all these boys. When Professor Edwardson had showed him magic for the first time, he had felt something clicking into place. It had been like somebody had winded up a clockwork deep inside him. And the clockwork ran and ran, ticking and clicking in perfect rhythm. Every new spell was a tiny new rack-wheel in this mechanism. He was only fourteen, but his clockwork ran quicker and smoother than those of some of his teachers. Magic pulsated through every single one of his veins. 

The wall was cool against his back. A shiver ran down his spine. He would just endure this and then carry on.

***

The street was barely visible. Just two skid marks in the snow. But Thomas thought it was better than nothing. It had stopped snowing by now and the clouds even ripped open a bit. The sun came through and dried his clothes a bit. Only the pain didn’t get better, but he could bear that.

The road headed slightly south west, pretty much the direction he had to go. Nightingale allowed his thoughts for a second to wander off. David was waiting for him. If he would recognise him? Of course, he would. He smiled at the image of David’s confusion turning into his beautiful bright smile. He would have to shave. During the last weeks he only had his knife to keep himself presentable.

But that wasn’t important. Important was that he would be back, back to the England, back to the Folly, back to David. He felt for the metallic, waterproof letter case in his inner pocket. The case contained a few letters and photographs. The oldest one showed his parents in their honeymoon. He liked that picture because especially his mother looked so much younger and happier than in his memory. On another one Molly looked at the observer with a slightly sidewards tilted head. And then there was the last one.

It showed him and David. He was sitting in one of the stuffed chairs in the Atrium of the Folly. David stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Pressing a little kiss on his cheek. Thomas remembered that day. He remembered that he blushed one second after this photo was taken.

A noise interrupted his thoughts. The noise of a big river in front of him. A few more steps and he stood at the shore of the Rhine. He couldn’t believe his luck. The road turned into a small wooden bridge, barely wide enough for a horse crossing it.

Something growled behind him. Nightingale spun around, the forma for a fireball ready to shoot. There was nothing. Was that a hallucination created by his exhausted mind? Or was he really going crazy? It wouldn’t surprise him after the days he spent without one hour of sleep.

There, that noise again. Thomas wished for his staff. It wasn’t only a powerful magic device, sometimes he just wanted the safety of a big heavy stick. He always liked this quote from that American President: “Speak softly and always carry a big stick.”

He turned back to the bridge, hoping to just cross it quickly and carry on. Just in time to see six soaking wet, giant snarling wolfs emerging from the river. Their fur was pitch black, like a raven’s coat. But their eyes were those of human beings.

Werewolves. An entire pack. All of them rested and hunting.

It was too late to run. Thomas took defensive position, the fists lightly clenched, the arms slightly raised. The Werewolves’ perception had to be overwhelmed with the smell of the building formae around him. Well, not overwhelmed enough to stop encircling him. He tried to back off, but the snarling was already behind him.

This was going to get difficult.

The first wolf jumped at him, an absurdly long tongue hanging out of his mouth. Nightingale sensed his shield, ducked and let the puzzled monster fly over his head. Then he released his spell. A hailstorm of small fireballs hit the Werewolf’s belly like the bullets of a Sten Gun. Even more blood was spilled over his coat, as the wolf hit the ground.

Everything had moved so fast, that the other members of the pack had remained in their position, completely startled by his cold-blooded counterattack.

Thomas slowly turned, awaiting the next attack. He wasn’t in the shape for a long fight, the fast and brutal skirmish with only one of the Werewolves had left him more exhausted that he wanted to admit. Another one of that kind and he would be decapacitated. A cold wind rose, swirling up the fresh snow.

It only took his sight for a split second. A split second too much. Not enough for a spell, but enough for a wolf’s teeth. They sunk into his already damaged shoulder; the blood immediately oozed out under them. The weight of the wolf pulled him to the ground; the impact pressed the air out of his lungs.

And then a hard object hit his head. Everything turned black.

***

“Sing, little Nightingale! Sing for us!”, William revelled in his friends’ stupid laughter. Nightingale closed his eyes and tried to zone out. 

“The Prefect! The Prefect!”, a new voice which came from behind Grey’s friends. Younger and lighter, more likely a boy in his age.

Grey exchanged a quick glance with his companions. Thomas could see panic rising in them and allowed himself to hope that this absurd punishment would end now. William signalised his friends with a quick nod to run. He himself threw Thomas a hateful glance, spat at him a last time and hurried away.

Nightingale wiped his face with his sleeve. It was stained with blood and spat. He must’ve bitten his tongue. Or his nose bled. Maybe both.

“Hey, are you alright?”

He looked up. It wasn’t the Prefect. It would have wondered him. The voice really belonged to a boy in his age. He was a bit taller and leaner than Thomas; The features of his face were smooth and framed by light brown curls. But he could only stare at his eyes: They were beautiful. They shone in a bright blue, like two ponds in the summer. So much life and power and sheer brightness sparkled in them.

Thomas stared. He had forgotten everything that his parents had told him about politeness.

“Hello, is someone there? Or did they steal your tongue?”

“No, I… I’m fine.”

“Are you? Didn’t look like it a second ago.”

“No, really.”, he straightened up a bit, correcting his clothing again. His hair probably looked like a mess, but he didn’t care: “Thank you for, uhm, saving me.”

“No problem. Grey’s got as much spine as a snail. Trust me, I’ve been there, done that, won’t do it again. Here, your nose’s bleeding.”, David handed him a handkerchief.

“Thank you.”, Thomas pressed it against his nose.

“What’s your name? I’ve seen you, but never said hello.”

“Nightingale. Thomas Nightingale. Pleasure to meet you. And you are?”, he introduced himself with the hint of a bow. The other boy informally offered his hand. Nightingale hesitated a second before he slowly shook it.

“My name’s David. Mellenby.”

David. That was a nice name. It fitted the person.

“So, Thomas. You don’t mind if I call you Thomas?”

“No, of course not.”

“Thomas, what did you do, to anger these idiots so much? I mean, I’ve seen him losing it before, but I never thought he would dare attacking someone so dangerous as you.”

“Dangerous? I’m not dangerous.”

“Aren’t you? Then all the things I heard about you are wrong?”

“What did you hear about me?”

“You really don’t know about the rumours?”

Thomas was alert. Rumours? He could think of a topic that would create excellent rumours. And if David described whatever these thoughts he had sometimes were as dangerous, than this would probably the last time they spoke so friendly. He had to be more careful with what he told people. Not that he ever shared anything about _that thing_ , but if there were rumours…

“So, all those stories aren’t real. Shame, I wanted to ask you if you could show me something. Okay, I’ll stop annoying you now. It was lovely meeting you, Thomas. Maybe we see each other on a happier occasion. Bye.”

David gave him a smile, before he turned around and walked away.

***

Pain. Burning, stinging, biting, numbing pain. It was the first thing Nightingale sensed after coming back from the black nothing. His eyes were open, but he still couldn’t see anything. A blindfold? Probably, guessing by the pressure on his eyes.

After some time, he finally remembered what had brought him here. The Rhine. The bridge. The wolves.

He had to think systematically. Where was he? It felt like he was hanging from somewhere. His feet barely touched the ground, it was a rather uncomfortable position. His arms were overstretched and his shoulder definitely didn’t like that. If he interpreted the sticky feeling on his skin there correctly, then the bite of the Werewolf caused a bigger, but not devastating damage. Nothing irreversible.

What concerned him more, was that he could think of any _formae_. Whenever he tried it, even with such easy ones as _Lux,_ his brain just stopped working. He had a black-out, only a few seconds, but magic wouldn’t help him.

He was cold. His coat and his jacket were gone, guessing by the origins of the cold in his body somebody took his boots too. He didn’t cherish an illusion. He was in the hands of the Werewolves. If the rumours he heard only contained a grain of truth, then he couldn’t expect much from this situation.

While planning Operation Spatchcock they had discussed if the soldiers should carry suicide pills. He had been against it. A well-trained practitioner was absolutely able to crack open a cyanide pill inside the tooth of another man. Now he cursed his past self. But cursing never solved anything and so Thomas forced his thoughts in a more constructive direction.

“Er ist wach.”

A voice, male, cool, very German. A SS-officer. No, the leader of a pack of Werewolves. Nightingale could smell his wild, animalistic stench, that he already knew from various higher-ranking Werewolves. David had hypothised it had to do with the amount of time they spent in their wolf shape.

The blindfold disappeared suddenly. Thomas squinted his eyes due to the unexpected light.

“Hello? Heeeello? I know, you are awake, _Nachtigall_! Don’t pretend to sleep.”, the man’s English was flawless, but heavy accented. And he called him _Nachtigall,_ the Nightingale. His nickname.

A punch interrupted his thoughts. He bit down a cry of pain and opened his eyes completely.

“There you are!”

The officer didn’t look like the Nazi ideal at all. His hair was dark brown, his eyes too. He sat on a chair, an expression of curiosity in his eyes like he examined a wild animal. The punch came from a much bigger man with black hair, watery blue eyes, pale skin. He wore a knuckle-duster on each hand and a burning cigarette stuck between his lips. A long scar crossed his entire face. Thomas knew him: It was one of the two wolfs he let escape bleeding a few weeks ago.

“But where are my manners? I forgot to introduce ourselves: I’m Obersturmführer Josef Wegerer. This is Oberscharführer Hans Jung. Pleasure to meet you, after all this time, _Nachtigall_.”

“The feeling is definitely one-sided.”, Nightingale tried to throw him a cold glance, but Oberscharführer Jung punched him again, this time directly under the ribcage. He tasted sour acid and grossly warm blood on his tongue, followed by an incredible strong nausea. Before he could recover from that, another blow hit. He could just hope that none of his ribs were broken.

“As it should be clear by now.”, Wegerer continued without further notice: “We are not here for a nice little chat. Do you know how many of my wolves you killed until now? Forty-seven. Including four of my very own Betas. If you were on our side, you would be at least Standartenführer by now.”

“Quite lovely.”, Thomas replied dryly: “Could you please come to an end?”

“So impatient. But today I feel generous and make it quick. You, Captain, are going to tell me in the next few hours exactly where all of your men are, how many there are and about their weapons. You are going to tell me every scientific secret that rat Mellenby stole from us. And last but not least, you are going to tell me what you did with our library.”

It wasn’t very gentleman-like, but Thomas didn’t care anymore. He spat out a mixture of blood and gastric acid:

“That is what I’m going to tell you.”

The Obersturmführer shook his head in disappointment:

“That is very unfortunate. For you. I always get what I want in the end. Hans, your turn.”

***

“Wait!”

David turned around in surprise.

“Were you talking about… magic?”

Mellenby’s glance light up again. Thomas loved that smile. And he was proud that he inflicted it. David returned to him. His eyes were glowing:

“I knew it! How many of those rumours are true? Are you really able to create ice out of thin air?”

“Shhh! Not everybody needs to know that.”

“So, it is true?”

“Yes, it is. But please, be silent about it. If one of the professors find out about it, I can go home.”

“They didn’t teach you that? You learnt it by yourself?”

“No, not exactly. I- I asked Mr. Heller if he could show it to me. You know he had fought in the Crimea and learnt some things from the Russians. I guess, he thought that I couldn’t learn it from watching him. But I did.”, for the first time in a long time he allowed himself a boyish, complacent grin that made him look as young as he was.

David gave him an encouraging nudge:

“That is fantastic. You know, the best thing I can do is a fairly good _Impello._ How many orders do you manage?”

“About the fourth. I always experiment a bit with them so it’s a bit hard to say. I had some pretty heavy explosions in the past.”

“That was you? About four months ago, a loud “Bam!” at 2 am in the morning.”

“Yeah, could be.”, he put on a one-sided smile at the memory.

“Can you show me something? Maybe that ice-thing?”

“We need to go somewhere a bit more private. I don’t want anyone to see this.”

“A bit late by now, isn’t it? The word is already out. I know somewhere to go. Come along.”

David walked down the hallway, both hands in his pockets. Thomas followed him not even thinking a second about possible classes he had to attend:

“Where do we go?”

“The woods. Mr. Barr is sitting in his cabin and drinks. I think he is passed out by now.”

Mr. Barr was the forester in Casterbrook and normally Nightingale would’ve had feared him and his hound Goliath, but if David thought it was safe, he trusted him completely.

***

His thoughts had stopped long ago. When the punches had begun leaving not just bruises but bleeding open wounds. The pain each one caused blurred together to a general agony and nausea. Oberscharführer Jung used everything he got, his fists, his knife, his claws. Strangely he used almost no spells, at least not directly to inflict pain. Thomas guessed that he was a good tormentor, but not a good practitioner. He remembered him fighting brutally but not very clever or creative.

One punch had hit his eye with so much force, that it had swollen in seconds. His shoulders, arms and especially wrists ached with the entire weight of his body pulling at them like a bag full of wet sand. The rope cut so deep in his wrists that blood was already running down his arms. He was covered with cold sweat that made him shiver in the chilling air.

“Es reicht.”, it seemed that Obersturmführer Wegerer was tired of watching his subordinate using him as a punching bag. Or he was clever enough to see that a delirious man couldn’t answer any questions.

Thomas closed his eyes and stopped trying to hold his head up. He had had enough and at least a small part of his brain hoped that somebody in the room would just shoot him in the head. He would be fine with it. After this entire month, no, after the second he saw the glider flying away, he was fine with the idea of his own death. He had fulfilled his purpose.

“So, here we are. You are still alive. Hans said you wouldn’t make it. I should probably thank you because I won that bet.”

The Obersturmführer slowly circled him. Had that Hans guy left the room? Were his senses already that damaged?

“But you look pretty much like he tried really hard to kill you. That must hurt.”, a finger poked one of the longest cracks on his cheek. He managed to only make a very small noise of agony. It would have been too embarrassing after staying silent the entire time.

“You still won’t tell me what I want to know, right?”

Thomas kept silent. He wasn’t sure that he was still able to even raise his head. A hand grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up. The sudden light burned in his eyes; he was blinded. 

“I asked you something.”, the voice was directly next to his ear: “I expect an answer. And only because I’m a bit more patient with some of these answers, doesn’t mean I don’t expect them. So, am I right?”

“Yes. I won’t tell you anything.”, Nightingale was surprised by his own voice. Barely a whisper was left of it.

“Thought so”, Wegerer let go of him: “But it has been almost 24 hours now. I’m tired. I will leave you now to yourself. Don’t wander off.”

He heard a very sharp blade being pulled out of a sheath. Suddenly the rope holding him upright disappeared and he slumped to the floor. The impact was so heavy that it almost knocked him out. Obersturmführer Wegerer grabbed the rope that still connected his wrists and dragged him over the floor. A chain rattled; wood crashed against wood. Before Thomas could ask himself, what was that a kick in the stomach threw him in a wooden cage.

He was too exhausted to think about his environment or about the future or about anything really. He just wanted to sleep.

***

It was a warm, sunny day. The sun was beaming through the trees’ leaves painting a beautiful pattern of light and shadows on the ground. The air smelt exactly like an early autumn day should smell like. Like fruits a bit too ripe and rainwater on the ground. Like newly filled brooks and the first leaves changing their colour.

David led the two of them on a barely visible path between the trees and bushes. Since about half an hour they were steadily walking upwards. Thomas didn’t worry where they were going. He had considered the possibility, that David was messing with him, leading him into another trap. This time one he couldn’t escape. But he abandoned that idea almost immediately. And he didn’t know why. It just seemed him absurd.

“So, here we are.”, Mellenby turned and smiled again: “After you. But careful.”

Nightingale threw him a questioning look, but he kept smiling and signalised him with a nod to go forward. He slowly stepped forward, looking at David. Who instantly stopped smiling and opened his mouth to warn him, but it was too late.

Thomas stepped onto thin air and other than in one of these American cartoons gravity actually worked. His magical instincts kicked in before he hit the ground. He only needed to think _Aer volitandum_ and the air around him caught him, like he was a puppet.

For a second, he just hung there, staring at David, who stared back at him. Then he lost control of his spell and fell the remaining metre to the ground.

“Oh my God, are you fine? I mean, that was amazing, you were flying for a second, but… How did you do that? Are you fine?”, David climbed down the cliff Thomas had just fallen of: “I’m terribly sorry. I should have warned you of the cliff. I thought you were paying attention to the path before your feet. Here, get up.”

“Thank you.”, Nightingale took the offered hand, got up and cleaned his clothes of the dry leaves sticking to it: “What is this place?”

Mellenby seemed glad that there was a question to cover up his little mishappening:

“I discovered it a few months ago. About the same way you did more or less. Just without a spell. Nearly costed me a broken arm, but it was worth it.”

“Yes, it was. It’s very nice.”

It was indeed. It was basically a pit with about six metres radius. A part of an underground cave must’ve collapsed here. Otherwise the steep cliffs and the almost perfect round form wasn’t completely explainable. But it must’ve been a time ago because the ground was covered with gras and two little willows grew out of the cliffs. Protected from the wind and too heavy rain by the walls it was still summer in the pit. The plants showed no sign of decay yet.

David unceremoniously dropped to the floor, crossed his legs, and looked expectantly at Thomas:

“So, we are here now. That levitating thing was impressive but…”

“I promised snow. And I am a man of my word. It maybe gets a bit cold.”

He relaxed his suddenly tight shoulders and took a deep breath. He never tried this on such a big scale. But he trained with ice and snow should be a bit easier. And also, this was his chance to show what he could do. It didn’t take much to imagine the shining joy it would bring to David’s eyes.

Magic was for him not like his teachers described it. It wasn’t bending the rules of nature to someone’s will. Nature couldn’t be bend. Whatever you try to force a river into a channel, in the end it will break free and destroy everything you’ve built. To do what he was doing, you must throw yourself directly in the centre of the stream. Feel it in every cell of your body. Magic wasn’t a tool he used sometimes. It was a part of him.

Thomas made a gesture like he was throwing a ball into the air, the fingertips of both hand directed at the sky.

“ _Nix.”_ , he commanded.

Nothing happened. David looked around, while Nightingale blushed in embarrassment. His heart dropped into his shoes:

“This isn’t- I’m sorry. You know, I’ve never before- I’m sorry. What you must think of me? This is- I’m sorry. I-“

A perfect little snowflake trundled through the air and landed at David’s left foot, where it laid for a moment before it melted. Mellenby opened his palm and caught another one. It disappeared in a second, but many, many others were filling their places.

David chuckled:

“You made it snow.”

***

He woke up and knew immediately where he was. It had followed him into his dark, unsettling nightmares. Nightingale wanted to drift into that cold darkness again. Nightmares were better than the pain and the cold and the shame and the fear he experienced now.

He failed. The great Captain Thomas Nightingale laid in a cage, ripped of all his magic, only thing remaining a creature of pain. After a month managing to escape the Wolves, after a month learning how strong his enemies were, he still let his guard down, because he felt safe. A stupid hope got him here. If he had focused on the here and now, they wouldn’t have caught him.

Probably that woman with the gun. He should have eliminated her, or at least erase her memory. But no, he trusted a random woman who had held him at gunpoint and had no reason to lie for him. Especially not to the soldiers of the nation she belonged to.

A month ago, such a mistake wouldn’t have happened to him. He had gotten tired and therefore careless. In hindsight this outcome seemed inevitable. He now only paid the price for his previous mistakes. A price he’d earned.

His fantasy went wild, creating more and more disturbing pictures of the possible future. They wouldn’t just kill him. Obersturmführer Wegerer wasn’t that kind of man. He wanted something and he would take it. Until now it only had been a Prelude to what was about to come.

In the preparations for Operation Spatchcock he had read reports from the SOE about the concentration camps. Only one of them contained a secret file about the status of the German _fae_. It had been enough. As far as the Folly knew, there were no free _Genii Locorum_ left in Germany. They were pretty sure that Rhine and Danube were still alive. Thomas had met the Lady of the Danube a few times in the past.

Father Thames was without a doubt powerful. But the Thames was nothing compared to the Danube. She had emitted an aura of sheer power that nearly had made him drop to his knees. A born queen. No, Lady Danube was too strong to be killed by some Nazis.

Other than he. He was very much killable and very much torturable. A cold wind blew through a crack in the walls and made him shiver. The thin, desperate voice of a nightingale was carried in it.

***

The beautiful voice of a nightingale travelled through twilight in their little hide-out. It was afternoon, but in the shadows under the trees it was already getting dusk. The last snowflake floated to the ground and landed without a sound.

David’s eyes lightened up even more in the dark, but not the sparkle of wonder they had contained until now. It was more like a steady glow of joy. The joy new, deep knowledge. Thomas asked himself for a split-second if David had _fae_ in his ancestorial line. Human eyes couldn’t shine like that. But only for a split-second. The next one he found himself staring again. How could a person be so beautiful?

 _I want to kiss him._ That was a… not normal thought. That wasn’t his thought, it couldn’t be. It didn’t fit in his everything. But he liked it. He found it was a pretty good idea. No, stop! What the hell was he doing? It wasn’t thinking, obviously.

“Do you know, why they call you the Nightingale?”

He recognised it. Somehow, David had guessed this embarrassing thought in his head. Thomas wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. He would be disgusted by him. The only thing he could do, was facing it like a man:

“I guess to mock me. The nightingale, a little bird, that was sold in cages for centuries.”

“Is that what you think of yourself? A caged bird?”

“A bird weak enough to be put in one, at least.”

David cocked his head slightly. Thomas prepared to get up, excuse himself and retreat in honourable fashion.

“They don’t call you the Nightingale to laugh about you. A little bird, brave enough to sing during the winter, strong enough to be heard over the howling wind. You made it snow in the summer, you endure all the things some idiots do to you. God, you literally did fly. We call you the Nightingale, because you are not only exceptional. You are unique. You know, I wanted to approach you for months but I never had the guts. I had to wait for a chance where the power difference didn’t feel that extreme. I watched you for nearly a year. You are impossible. Thomas, you are incredible. You are a true Nightingale.”

***

No.

This was not how it would end.

Not like this. Defeated and hopeless. That just didn’t fit him. Also, he had a promise to keep.

Thomas opened his eyes. Pain was exploding in his head, but he fought it back down. So, what was his status?

On his shoulder and his upper thigh caked blood stuck to what had remained of his clothes and his skin. The teeth of the Werewolves had left deep wounds that at least had stopped bleeding. The shoulder was aching worse than before, with burning pain radiating from it into his stomach. He could still move his arm, so the joint itself was probably more or less undamaged. Thomas guessed that his muscles hat taken the most. His hands were still bond but he managed to lay a hand on the wound on his leg. It radiated a worryingly amount of heat. The beginnings of an infection. Not good.

What else? The nausea from the punch earlier hadn’t faded completely, he could still taste the bitterness of his own gastric acid mixed with blood. Guessing by the agony his entire body was covered in bruises, but a short moving of all his limbs assured him that he could basically move. 

The cage was narrow and low, a typical mind trick to force him into cowering at the feet of his captors. The entire cage was made out of young wood, perfect to deflect magic. Magic he couldn’t perform now. Why?

Nightingale examined the rope tying his wrists. There wasn’t much light and the rope was soaked with his own blood, but he still saw the black strand worked into the rope. A _Fluchband_ one of the things David had brought back from his last journey to Germany before the war. It blocked all possible _formae_ from even building. He knew how to get rid of them.

Thomas grabbed his left thumb with his right hand, ignored the pain in his bloody wrists, prepared himself for the pain and just pulled as fast and strong as possible. His thumb jumped out of his joint, a new burning pain rushed through his arm, but he bit it down again. Carefully he tried to move the rope a bit and finally pushed it over his hands. The flesh underneath was sore, but he was free again.

His magic returned in the blink of an eye, rushing through his veins into every cell. Thomas had to press his intact hand against his mouth to prevent himself from laughing. He grabbed his thumb again, this time pulling it back into the proper position. Step one was successful. The next one would be a bit more difficult.

The cage would be easy to break, but the Werewolves would smell the spell. Nightingale decided that there was no way around it. He would have to be quick and ready. A pile formed out of his jacket and the stolen coat laid in one of the corners. Break the cage, get up, get his clothes and then run. Not a very sophisticated plan but better than nothing.

He pressed his hand flat against the wood.

“ _Frangeo!”,_ one whispered word and the thick planks burst like they were made out of thin glass. Thomas jumped to his feet, nearly fell down again, because his injured leg didn’t want to carry him properly but caught himself.

The face pale as a ghost, shaking from the cold, leaning against the wall he stumbled across the room. His jacket dried in the meantime and warmed a lot. He could feel the letter case reassuringly pressed against his heart again. He turned to get the coat too, when he suddenly heard steps.

Okay, change of plans. He rushed back to the remains of the cage, picked up the rope and retreated into the shadows.

Obersturmführer Wegerer made no attempt to sneak in. He just threw the door open and marched in:

“ _Nachtigall!_ I smeeeeeell you! Are trying to act up!?”

Thomas released his _forma._ A glistening bright fireball flew like thrown by a catapult through the room. Wegerer hadn’t time to build his shield, he just dropped to the floor, rolled off and got up again, the _formae_ building up around him:

“You are fast, _Nachtigall._ You would make such a good wolf. Shame, that I have to kill you.”

“I would like to see that.”, Thomas tried not to move too fast so none of his wounds would open again. He studied every little movement of his enemy to predict his next _forma._ It would be _Impello Palma._ The twitching of his right hand betrayed him. Holding up a shield would just cost too much energy, he didn’t have, so Nightingale decided to simply jump out of the way.

When Wegerer rose his hand almost too fast to follow the movement with the eyes, he was ready.

Ready for the wrong spell.

It was not _Palma_ hitting him, it wasn’t any form of _Impello._

The spell dragged the air directly out of his lungs, every single atom with one pull. Out of reflex his hands rose to his throat, tyring to get rid of the non-existing hands suffocating him. Tears rushed to his eyes; a choked noise escaped his lips. He crashed onto his knees, still fighting for a single breath.

The Obersturmführer stumbled to him, sweat of exhaustion on his trembling hands and on his forehead. The spell had to be extremely difficult to hold. Thomas started a last desperate attempt to break it and this time it worked. Air flooded his lungs and he gasped heavily.

“You… are strong.”, Wegerer spat out panting: “But not… not strong enough.”

The transformation from man to wolf went smooth and without a sound, only the sound of claws scratching over the floor. One jump and the wolf would be at his throat. Nightingale had to be quicker.

The beast attacked with a snarling growl; mouth wide open with salvia running down from his teeth. Only centimetres before these teeth dug into his body, Thomas slung the _Fluchband_ around his neck and just pulled at both ends. This time it was Wegerer who choked. But not only because of the makeshift garrotte around his neck. From one second to another his magic was blocked. All that strength gone within a second.

_Gotcha_

He didn’t wait for the Werewolf to orientate again. Without even thinking consciously, he built up the _forma_. A blade forged out of air ripped Wegerer open, from his stomach to his throat. He was dead in a second. He turned back into his human form, while the terrible smell of innards still filled the room. Thomas swallowed bile. Then he threw up the little bit his stomach contained.

Every tension left his body all of a sudden, he went limb, all over covered in blood with the body of Obersturmführer Wegerer laying on top of him. His rough fur brushed over his skin, creating a nausea in him. Suddenly, he felt so disgusted that he pushed the warm corpse aside and got up as quick as possible. His whole clothes were soaked with blood and gastric liquid.

Nightingale just wanted to run, but he had to be rational now. He had to think about the miles the British lines were away. He couldn’t waste more time and couldn’t take more risks. The infection and the fever were progressing with every minute; his uniform was basically screaming “Shoot me”. Wegerer’s black uniform would help. Although it had bloody spots and was ripped apart, where the blade had hit him, but it was still in better shape than his current clothes, all soaked with the obnoxious mixture of blood and acid.

His stomach turned again, only thinking about touching that corpse, not speaking about taking his clothing. But it was necessary. He was still a soldier in a war and he still had his mission to accomplish. Thomas straightened his shoulders, got his breath under control and stepped to the body.

When he touched it, heat was still radiating from it, but now he was the Captain he was supposed to be. Doing what he had to do. It was too easy, changing his clothes. The Obersturmführer was little bit smaller than him, but the jacket, trousers and coat fitted surprisingly. He tugged his letter case safely away in the inner pocket.

He slowly opened the door, listening to any possible noise. He stepped out into the narrow hallway. There were only two more doors and stairs heading to a second floor. One of the doors looked thicker than the other one and he decided, that that was the exit.

Night, cold and snow greeted him, when Thomas stepped outside. The cold air, which had brought him so much misery in the past weeks, filled his lungs and it felt like the first real breath he’d taken in years. The moment stretched into eternity, when he closed his eyes and just let the snow be blown against him. It had something cathartic. Like in trance, he walked through the snow deeper into the night.

Then something howled behind him. They found Wegerer. It would only take seconds until the entire pack was on his track. He just ran. The snow was falling into his boots, the woollen coat got heavier with the melting snow soaking into it. The sky was cloudy, no stars were to be seen. Navigating was impossible, his compass was gone somewhere.

Behind him, lights flashed, the howling became louder and was mixed with commands in German. He could have understood it, if he wanted to and concentrated. But for now, it was only important that they were angry. The pack had lost its Alpha and probably the Betas were fighting right now for the leadership. It would only take them a few minutes, the fights in the packs were quick and brutal.

It didn’t matter how long they were fighting or how far he would come in the meantime. His normal smell would lead them as well as the trace of magic he was leaving behind. A river. He needed a river. Water didn’t preserve neither smell nor magic.

He stumbled over a root hidden under the snow, fell but got back on his feet, this time all covered in snow. The howling came nearer, the sound of heavy paws hitting the floor, muffled by the snow. Aggressive snarling, in which the thirst for blood echoed.

They would catch him.

Suddenly the floor disappeared under him. He realised that he fell only a heartbeat before he hit the ice-cold surface of fast running water. His head hit a stone and everything turned black.

***

„Wer sind Sie?“

„Nightin… Nighingale.“

„Die Nachtigall?“

„Mh…“

„You are glowing. How are you not dead?”

“…”

“No, not sleeping. You won’t wake up again.”

“Mhhmhh?”

“Don’t move. The wolves, they are looking for you, right? In the second I stop touching you, your smell will betray you.”

“Who…who are you?”

“I’m the Kyll. Call me Kelly. Nonononono, don’t sleep. That’s right, Nachtigall.”

“Thank… thank you.”

“No, don’t sleep!”

***

“Ay, Micheal, do ya see that ova there?”

“That’s just a bunch of tatters. Come back, I’m freezing.”

“I just wanna look.”

“The Sergeant is waiting for us. We are already too late!”

“Now come on!”

“I fucking hate you, James. What do you have there?”

“Dunno, mate. A man.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Don’t think so. Looks like a SS-uniform, ay?”

“Yes, you’re right. But something is wrong.”

“What d’ ya mean?”

“Where is the skull? Normally they always have this silver skull on their uniform.”

“Fuck me, did he just move?”

“We have to get him out of the water. One, two, three!”

“Is that fever? How can that lad still b’ alive?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m not a doctor. Better question: Why is a half-dead German lying in the Rhine, only a few metres away from the front?”

“He’s speakin’.”

“No, that’s impossible.”

“Will ya shut up! I’m tryin’ to listen.”

“You don’t understand German, do you?”

“He’s not speakin’ German. He’s one of our lot.”

“What?”

“Yeah, inglish.”

“What is he saying?”

“Doesn’t make any sense. Nightingale, Nightingale. Why’s he talkin’ bout birds?”

“He isn’t. That’s the Nightingale. You know, _the_ Nightingale.”

“Come on, help me carry him!”

***

“I’m here, Thomas. I’m here. It’s me, David. I know you can’t hear me, the doctors told me, that it’s better for you, if you are asleep a little longer. But maybe it’s still good, when somebody talks to you. You know, I’ve never felt so much relief before as in the second these two soldiers who found you burst into my quarter. They needed somebody with knowledge about magical healing. These poor boys… James and Michael. You have been saved by a Scot and an Irishman. They got a few days off for finding you. They should be on there way to Berlin right now. I hope they make it. They are… like us. We are winning the war. In a few weeks, our boys can celebrate in Berlin. Can you imagine? After all these years, it can be over. Just like you always dreamed.”

***

“You were considered dead. I never believed that. I would feel it if you were… gone. It would be like a cold, dark blade stabbing my heart. It would hurt like nothing else. God, it would hurt even more, than that hellish bullet, this sniper at Monte Casino had put in me. The wound is finally completely healed. Directly under my knee a nasty scar. Not very scientific, my believes. About… the pain of you being gone. But aren’t you always the one complaining that I’m not romantic and too rational? Why am I asking you questions? You won’t answer them. I can’t wait for you waking up. There is so much to tell. The Russians have taken Berlin. They’re only streets away from Adolf’s bunker. Peace is so close; I can nearly smell it. Maybe that’s the chance to bring peace for the world. Maybe this catastrophe was finally big enough to end all wars. Probably a bit optimistic. We already had a war to end all wars. You remember the trenches? And the poppies? So many poppies. The only gravestone for so many.”

***

“The Americans unleashed the nuclear bomb. Oppenheimer, he is the leader of the team who constructed it. He said this very fitting thing, when he saw the blast of the bomb. ‘Now I am death, the destroyer of worlds.’ It describes the time better than anything I could think of. Death, the destroyer of worlds. The destroyer of mine for sure. Please, Thomas, wake up. I need you back. With me. The world is getting darker with every day. I’m sitting in the Folly and go nearly crazy, because of the silence. They’re all dead. I’m alone. I’m so, so lonely. Please, Thomas… Thomas… I didn’t want to cry. Not again. The nurses are always too kind, letting me sit here far too long. Thomas. Nightingale. Please, rise. Raise your wings and raise your voice. It’s the only thing in this growing nightmare that gives me hope. The memory of your eyes, of your voice. Don’t break that hope. Please. Thomas…I…

I love you.”

***

Thomas woke up in pain, terrible, terrible pain, choking him, making him tear up.

He felt like he was stabbed.

A cold, dark blade had stabbed his heart.


End file.
